Lady Mountain

I found myself sitting in a rocking chair at the Zion Lodge way back on March 26th, absolutely nothing on my mind. Not too crowded, maintenance folks zippin' on by in electric carts, the big ol' cottonwood tree in the middle of the green lawn still looking the same as always. And as I sat there, rocking back and forth, I couldn't help but notice the gigantic lady towering in front of me. She rose an impressive 2,700ft into the air. She looked scary. Quite intimidating. I lacked the courage to introduce myself. So I just sat there and gave the occasional glance, far too timid to walk up and say hello. The closest I got was a brief jaunt on the Emerald Pools Trail. A little stroll, a mere wraparound. I looked up and saw the lady towering above everything, her presence all the more intimidating up close. I returned to the lodge, hopped on the shuttle, watched the lady through the window. She made me feel uneasy. Squeamish. As the shuttle rolled away, I was left with the feeling to never look at her again. She was simply too much for the eyes to handle. 

But that was a long time ago. I've gazed upon the lady many times since, most recently from my excursion to Observation Point. She's still as intimidating as ever. Still makes me squeamish. Still too much for the eyes to handle. But, slowly, gradually, over the course of many weeks and many a moment spent observing the lady from a distance and reading about her history, I managed to work up the chutzpah to finally introduce myself, to finally walk up to her, to stand so tiny and small and insignificant at the base of her sheer mass and look up and say "hello." And so, on March 3rd, the day after visiting Observation Point and all those other silly peaks, I finally, finally, finally made an attempt for the one, the only, the terrifically beautiful and invariably frightening, Lady Mountain.

The scramble begins

Man, what a mountain. This one's been on the list for quite some time now. I've always been averse to try it, mostly given the difficult route-finding, class 5 cruxes, and the absolutely disgusting amount of elevation gain required to reach the summit. Two thousand, six hundred and seventy-five feet in less than 2 miles. Yep. This thing certainly ain't no joke. 

There used to be a trail to to the summit. That's what I've been told. Steps, chains, and ladders led daring hikers up through near-vertical terrain from the canyon floor all the way to the tippity top, the views absolutely sublime. But apparently this trail was shut down in the 60's because of several fatalities and difficulties with maintaining it. And so, with chains and ladders long since removed, years and years of rain, wind and snow have been making quick work of erasing every trace of this crazy trail from existence. 

But despite the trail no longer being maintained by the park, the mountain ain't off-limits. Many a foolhardy traveler has made the trek to the summit using the remnants of the old trail, somehow finding a viable route up through the cliffs. Old, faded, disintegrating black and red and yellow arrows—as well as the occasional cairn—serve as indispensable beacons of guidance for those silly enough to make the trek to the summit. 

I had heavily researched the route, watched a couple of videos documenting the ascent, and had practiced my off-trail Zion scrambling for over a month to prepare for this mountain. It commanded discipline and respect. Had to take this one seriously; I knew this would be a tough route that required me to be on top of my game. By May 3rd I was as prepared as I could be. Plus I had just received my brand-new approach shoes in the mail, so you know I just had to try 'em out.

Moki Steps

I hopped on the shuttle, took it to the Lodge, walked straight to the restroom, destroyed the toilet, and then, now feeling light as a feather, floated on over to the Emerald Pools trail, Lady Mountain tall and formidable as ever. I crossed the bridge, made a left, and then followed the trail steeply to a little sign that I didn't care to read. Across from the sign was a steep little use trail. Oh boy. Here we go. I took a deep breath, said goodbye to the maintained trail and began the ascent to the top of Lady Mountain, knowing full well that the hiking would get more and more difficult with each passing step.

The trail was surprisingly well-trodden, and I followed it without difficulty all the way to the base of some scary lookin' cliffs. But I knew there was a class 3 route up through them, and a faded, yellow arrow pointed up and so I began the scramble, the first of many for the day. Ahh yes. Slow and steady, one step at a time...

And I moved up and up, biting off vert, the exposure growing, views finally starting to materialize all around me. I soon encountered some moki steps, scrambled up the things, turned around, looked at my progress. I was already a good 100ft up the mountain, the terrain steep and sheer, the exposure considerable. Some might find this first chunk a little scary. If that's the case I recommend turning around; it only gets worse the farther you go. 

But for the moment, things were pretty chill. Once above the cliffs, I followed a use trail as it zig-zagged up the mountain through hardy trees and prickly cacti, a little less well-trodden than the one below the cliffs but still pretty obvious. I kept my eyes sharp for arrows and other trail markers, following them as they led to the base of more cliffs. These were much steeper than those I'd just surpassed, the most difficult move right at the beginning of the climb. But I stayed slow and relaxed, climbing on all fours up through the sheerness of it all, following the arrows, using the old moki steps to my advantage, going up and up and up until finally encountering the first class 5 crux of the day.

Some tricky cliffs; ascend the chute on the left

The 1st class 5 crux

I sat in the shade, guzzled down some water. I was already drenched in sweat, the temperatures holding steady in the high 80's. I gazed upon the crux, excited to finally observe it in person. I didn't bring a rope with me, but I knew that this thing (as well as the other crux) could be climbed, up and down, without much difficulty. I was willing to give it a try; if it was too spicy for me to handle, I'd simply turn around and come back with a rope. My golden rule would be well applied here: I never climb up something that I know I can't climb down. And so, eager to try it out, I wandered over to the crux, a chimney of sorts with an awkward overhanging rock proving to be the most difficult obstacle. I took it nice and slow, the rock nice and grippy, the holds pretty dang good all things considered. I reached the top, looked back down. Yup. Not too bad. I could definitely climb back down that thing. And so I pressed on, climbing up through a narrow chute, across some exposed ledges to a long traverse along the eastern face of the mountain.

Walking along the east face

Ahh, what a traverse. A reprieve from the punishing uphill, it was nice to finally be walking on fairly level ground for the time being, the going mellow, the lodge far, far, below, the sounds of civilization growing softer and softer. I followed cairns and footprints across the east face, the route finding a little tricky. A few use trails snaked off in random directions; I made sure to place cairns marking the correct route for the way back. Very easy to get off route on that traverse. Gotta stay vigilant.

Eventually I encountered a few small rocks that blocked off the use trail I was following, indicating that I make a right and hike through some bushes and start the climb once again. Up and up, through bushes and thorns, I soon encountered the 2nd class 5 crux, this one far less exposed but much much more difficult to climb.

The 2nd, trickier class 5 crux

It ain't much to look at, but be warned: this thing is no joke. If I hadn't seen a video on how to climb down it (something that for whatever reason is significantly easier than climbing up it) I woulda turned around at this point. Downward facing, featureless slabs make this a real class 5 climb, the holds terrible, everything slippery. I made an awkward move with my leg and kinda just muscled my way up the thing. Certainly not the most graceful way of doing things, but it got the job done. I pressed on, following faded arrows and tiny cairns, moving through brush and dirt, up and up, biting off vert, a buffett of vert, enough vert to feed a starving village, up and up and up, scrambling up blocky, white steps, a stairway to heaven, the exposure appreciable, the summit growing closer with each step.

"Stairway to Heaven"

A particularly well-preserved arrow, the rest were barely visible

A tricky section; stay right

I eventually entered a gully of sorts, marking the entry/exit point with a cairn for my return. I hiked up the thing for a little ways, knowing that I'd have to make a left at some point. Soon enough, I saw what looked to be a viable option, and I quickly scrambled up out of the gully to a nice shady tree. I sat down, guzzled more water, appreciated the shade. I saw a yellow arrow down below, leading to a point somewhere in a sea of brush. These things ain't always reliable. Can't just blindly follow 'em. Gotta stay attentive. Find the path of least resistance. 

Entering the gully

Leaving the gully; I took a a break under the shady tree on the left

It was while I was sitting there in the shade and looking at this strange arrow down below that I heard a sharp screeching noice coming from farther up the mountain. I never heard it again. Hmm. Very strange. Perhaps I was just hearing things. I don't know. I shrugged it off and pressed forward, the route a little tricky to follow. 

For whatever reason, the route-finding in section from the gully to the summit proved to be the most difficult, the path not super obvious, several use trails snaking off in various directions, the arrows and cairns few and far between. I climbed up some class 3 stuff, moved through brush and loose rock, got turned around, climbed back down, started over. Ahh man. Lots of experimentation. I'd follow a use trail and then the thing would peter out into nothing. No footprints, not a damn thing. And so I'd retrace my steps back to the last cairn or arrow and start again, trying to find the most well-travelled path.

It was while I was experimenting with these routes when I heard the screeching noise again. Ok. Yup. That definitely wasn't in my head. That was real. And it was close. Damn. What could it be? Better not be a mountain lion. I ain't ready to see no mountain lion just yet. I lingered for a moment, waiting to hear the screech again. I heard nothing. Not a thing. Just the sound of the wind and my own labored breathing. Strange.

I pressed on regardless, my desire to reach the summit stronger than my apprehension of the mystery noise. I found the correct path, the thing covered with numerous footprints. Finally back on route, the rest of the way was pretty smooth, just a lot of zig-zagging up a mixture of loose rocks and steep slabs. 

And then I heard something in the bushes and I immediately went into early-human-caveman-adrenaline mode and crouched down and instantly pinpointed the location of the sound. Far away, a good 100ft off route, were two people scrambling up the steep grade through brush and stupidly loose rock. Ahh. Mystery solved.

I hollered at them, asked if they were ok. They seemed a little surprised. Weren't expecting to see anyone else all day. "Oh yeah, we're good" said one. "You must have heard my screams" said the other. "Man, you came at just the right time, we were just starting to lose morale" said the first one, starting to bust through the brush towards me. I asked if they were good on water and stuff and they said "yep." All they needed were directions. "Shoulda gone climber's right, but we went climber's left." Ahh. A simple mistake. Must've gotten turned around in the same spot I did. 

We met up, talked some more. They were still interested in summiting and so we kind of moved along as a group, although I walked a good 100ft in front of them. I pointed out some more tricky sections, weird turns, tight switchbacks, stuff like that. Soon the summit came into view. Close. Real close. Nearly there. Just had to keep going.

Lady Mountain summit

I reached a ridge, marking the spot with a cairn for the return. Several emotions were swimming through my body. Can't really describe how I felt; it was definitely a bit surreal. The hard part of the climb was over. Easy walkin' (well, comparatively easy walkin') from here on out. I was definitely gonna make it. Wow. After all this time, after all this worrying, after all this talk, after all this research, I was finally gonna make it. It was strange, walking along that ridge. Didn't feel real, like it was all a dream. I floated up the use trail the rest of the way to the summit, sat down, touched the metal marker. Hello Lady Mountain. It's nice to finally meet you. 

The views were amazing, simply amazing, rivaling those I'd seen on Mountain of the Sun back on March 16th. The canyon stretched out before me thousands of feet below, the shuttles lookin' like little caterpillars, the E-bikers like fleas. The East Temple rose in the distance, lofty and impressive. Looking in the opposite direction, up the canyon, I made out the tip of Angels Landing. Still haven't been up there yet. I've done all these summits and I still ain't done the most popular hike in the whole ding-dang park. Oh well. It really do be like that sometimes...

The two lost hikers met me at the summit. We chatted some more, exchanged stories. They didn't believe that this was my first time up the mountain. I said something like "ehh, I've got a lot of practice." And I sat there like a dweeb and pointed out every summit in view that I'd climbed, starting with Mountain of the Sun and then working north. 

And we continued talking and I opened the register and it was full of churlish, insipid, raunchy and all-around hilarious entries and snippets and stories. Lots of people spending the night. Lots of butt sweat. Lots of drawings and sketches. Lots of tales of trials and tribulations, of hardship and adversity, of consuming substances and naughty naughty things that are better left unsaid. I chuckled at a few of these entries, my eyes passing over the pages. And then it was time to go and I said goodbye to the lost hikers and wished them safe travels on the descent. I stood up, took one last look, and then set off down the mountain. 

Headin' back, Jacob Canyon below

Heading back down the confusing section...

I found my cairn and immediately began the descent, careful not to miss any turns. I moved smooth and quick, gliding down the use trail and numerous zig-zags no problem, the route burned into my mind, no mistakes this time. Down, down, down, the descent a good ol' fashioned knee-killer, the clouds passing overhead, the temps still nice and toasty, just me, the rocks, and the hellish grade. Oh yeah. Good times, good times.

Don't go down the gully. Stay high and left

Some class 3

I reached the shady tree, climbed back down into the gully, nearly overshot the exit, barely noticing the cairn until the last moment. Gotta keep the eyes peeled. Can't make no mistakes on this mountain. No sirree bob. And I continued along, my eyes focused on the route, following cairns and arrows and footprints. And I skirted down the slabs and hopped down the steps and before I knew it I was back at the tricky class 5 crux, the thing a little intimidating from above. But no matter. I was prepared. I'd researched the route. I knew how to descend this crux. I walked down, facing out, jammed my body in the crack, stuck my foot out onto the right wall, found the foothold, and gently lowered myself down. Easy peasy. 

Looking down the tricky class 5 crux

And then I traversed across the east face again, my knees grateful for the gentle grade. I stopped far too often to take pictures of the cactus flowers, but they were just so darn beautiful I couldn't help myself. Something must've been in the air that afternoon 'cause the lighting on the petals was something absolutely incredible. 

And then I found myself atop the other class 5 crux, this one much more exposed. I was slow and careful on the descent, four points of contact at all times, gently, delicately, tenderly making my way down. Once past this obstacle, there were only a couple more tricky sections left. I was in the home stretch. Nearly there, nearly there...

Looking down the other class 5 crux

And I descended through the cliffs and followed the arrows and cairns and zig-zagged through rocks and dirt and soon I was atop the first cliff band I'd climbed earlier in the day. Wow. Almost done. And I turned around and faced the rock and carefully climbed down the moki steps, the things a bit exposed but the holds phenomenal. And I turned back around and lowered myself down the class 3 stuff to the base of the cliffs, following the use trail back to the sign I didn't care to read. To this day I still don't know what it says. I took a glance at it and walked right on by, continuing along the well-maintained trail back to the bridge. 

A view from the Emerald Pools Trail

Lady Mountain

Lots of people out and about. Quite crowded. Had to wait for the bridge to clear up. And as soon as I walked across I snapped one final photo of Lady Mountain and then I kinda just stood there like an idiot and took a good long look. Couldn't believe that I'd actually climbed the thing. Didn't seem real. Two hours and forty-five minutes was all it took, but it felt much longer. And I stood and stared, and I traced the route with my eyes, and I followed it all the way to the tippity-top, and I still couldn't believe that I'd done it. But I had made it. I'd said hello. I'd made acquaintance with the lady. She still scared me, still intimidated me, but at least she was familiar now. I shrugged, made a peace sign, and then walked over to the lodge, the day finished, the hike complete. 

Wow, what a hike. It certainly ain't for beginners, that's for sure. Though I didn't use a rope, I can definitely see why one is recommended. The approach shoes helped a lot, but they weren't the only reason why I made a successful summit. Preparation, discipline, and knowing my limits were absolutely key. This is a difficult route. It requires technical ability, extreme focus, route-finding skills and a stomach for exposure. I don't recommend this route for the casual hiker. If you do decide to check it out, please come prepared. This is not a place to mess around and find out. 

Observation Point and Friends

I hadn't been to Observation Point since 2018. At the time, there was a really awesome trail that started at the canyon floor and zig-zagged up through the cliffs all the way to the top. Adventurous, scenic, passing through Echo Canyon and offering tremendous views along the way, this was one of my favorite trails of all time. Easily the best trail in the park, that's for sure. But not long after we visited, a big ol' landslide took out a good chunk of that trail, closing it for the time being. And then, about a year later, another landslide pretty much finished it off, closing it for the foreseeable future, perhaps forever. Quite the travesty indeed. 

Fortunately, there exist other ways to reach Observation Point, although none of them are nearly as scenic as the old trail from the canyon floor. One way involves a really long hike from the East Rim Trailhead, the other a short seven mile roundtrip jaunt from the East Mesa Trailhead. I'd already walked a good chunk of the East Rim Trail when I checked out Cable Mountain back in late April, plus I'm super lazy and on the afternoon of May 2nd I was in an especially lazy mood so I figured, ehh, I'll take the short route. And so I stopped at a deli after work and nabbed me a sandwich and some junk chips and drove on into Zion National Park for the nth time, driving up through the tunnel, out past the east entrance, through the Ponderosa Ranch Resort and down a 4wd road towards the easy route for Observation Point. 

There were hardly any vehicles in the parking lot, which was strange since it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I began walking on the trail, the thing nice and wide and fairly flat, numerous pines offering ample shade, the lighting delicate and soft. Not a whole lotta views. Just a nice walk through the woods.

After a while, I saw some use trails snaking off to the right, all of 'em leading to Mystery Canyon no doubt. I followed one for a bit and was gifted with a view of said canyon, the thing deep, sheer, brushy. And then I got it in my mind to check out a minor summit just off to the side, the unassuming "Blew By Peak." Barely noticeable, many people blow right on by this thing on the way to Observation Point. Not me. No sir. I was gonna see what was up there. I knew there'd probably be absolutely nothing, but you never know. 

And so I left the use trail and trudged up through manzanita and cacti and a whole other assortment of lovely, prickly bushes, walking in a straightish line towards the summit. And what a summit. Golly, what a place. Wide, flat, brushy, a noticeable highpoint nowhere to be found. Yep. No surprises there. Looked exactly how I imagined.  But I wandered around for a few more moments, still in search of a high point of sorts, jumpin' through manzanita, hoppin' over the occasional patch of cryptobiotic soil. Couldn't find nothing. Oh well. I ducked under a rugged pine tree and bushwhacked back to the trail.

Observation Benchmark

Back on the trail, I noticed a small bump just to the north of Observation Point, the unpretentious "Observation Benchmark." Despite its small stature, it was more of a "summit" than Blew By Peak, so I figured I might as well give it a looksie. I moseyed on over to the top, following a use trail most of the way, the thing a wee bit steep in spots but nothing too crazy. There were two USGS benchmarks on the summit, one marking the high point and the other situated a little ways off to the side. It was at this 2nd benchmark where the best views could be seen, mostly of the northern part of Zion Canyon. 

I sat. I gazed. I absorbed the scenery. Nothin' but rugged, rugged country. That's all there is to say. Rugged, rugged country. I know I've said that a lot on this blog, but what else is there to say of Zion Canyon? Looking north, down into the thin, dark, shadowy Narrows, up into the wilderness, cliffs and canyons and sheer drop-offs and crazy bushes clingin' to the crumbly sandstone walls and inaccessible mountains and pinnacles and bumps and knobs, flat and brushy mesa tops, blocky caps, bright colors, red and white and green. How else to describe such a place? 

A view from Observation Benchmark

And I sat there for a bit and soaked in the views, gazing out upon the West Rim, noting the peaks over there, looking down into the Narrows, wondering how many people were in there right now with their phones in their hands taking pictures of literally everything and then getting distracted and falling in the river and ruining all their electronics and just having a jolly bad time. And then I got up, brushed off my shorts, and finally made my way to the main destination of the day: Observation Point.

The famous view from Observation Point

Yep. Looked exactly how I remembered it in 2018. Hadn't changed a bit. It's easily one of the best views in the entire park, and unless you wanna scramble up a sketchy route to a crazy summit you really can't see a view of similar caliber. Probably the best bang for your buck if you ask me. 

I sat down, drank some water, the sandwich and junk chips long since devoured on the lenghty drive to the trailhead. Only one other person was there and they soon turned back, satisfied with the million pictures they'd taken. And so I had a rare moment of solitude, enjoying Observation Point all by my lonesome, nothing but the sound of the wind meeting my ears. And then I heard panting and these two trail runners showed up and they went "wow" and I went "yep" and then I got up, took one last look at the view, and made my way back to the car.

Blew By Peak wasn't sittin' right in my mind and so I got the idea to visit it again on the way back, this time with the goal to find a high point at all costs. And so I ducked off the trail and bushwhacked about 300ft up to the summit, a much easier route than my first choice from the use trails for Mystery Canyon. And I got to the top and poked around and wouldn't you know it, I found me a booklet in a glass jar. Why such an unassuming peak such as this would have a summit register, I have no idea. I sat down, opened it up, and read what was inside.

Blew By Peak summit register

Where I found it

Placed in 2018, the thing only had 17 entries. Mine made it 18. I closed it up, got up, took one last look, figured I'd probably never return to this place, and then made my way back to the trail. Along the way, I checked out those use trails for Mystery Canyon yet again, this time finding a spot in the shade to sit and enjoy the commanding views of the Zion Backcountry. Maybe someday I'll check out Mystery Canyon, but I certainly ain't what you'd call a "canyoneer" and I have have absolutely zero rope experience, so, we'll see...

Mystery Canyon

Once I'd had my fill, I got up and continued back down the trail, the afternoon growing long, the trees casting tall shadows. Because I'm an idiot, I decided to check out one more peak on the way back, the extremely inconspicuous "Peak 6645." The thing was so unnoticeable that I didn't even see it on the way out to Observation Point. Didn't even know where it was, really. Kinda had to guess. I saw a rise off through the bushes and trees and simply assumed it to be the peak, so I busted through brush over to the top, the thing wide, flat, covered in ceanothus and scrub oak and manzanita and pinyon pines. And I wandered around, trying to find a "high point," found nothing, and then made my way through the brush over to a view of sorts, the sunlight glowing off the white sandstone cliffs in the distance, the day coming to a close.

A seldom seen view from "Peak 6760"

It wasn't until after I got home that I realized I'd reached "Peak 6760" instead of "Peak 6645," but it doesn't really matter. I'm sure the latter doesn't look much different. I'd received my brush buffet and so I felt satisfied. Not really, but I definitely felt something, most likely the numerous scratches and cuts on my arms and legs. Ahh man. Why do I do the things I do. 

Back at the trailhead, in the car, down the road, driving through the country. There was still some daylight left, so I decided to check out just one more peak for the day, the curious Separation Peak out on the East Rim. Situated between Nippletop and Crazy Quilt Mesa, this little nubbin can barely be seen from the road; it's just a small, diminutive, crumbly-lookin' knob of white sandstone. I drove back through the east entrance of the park and found a pullout along the side of the road, the peak rising in the distance, most of it shrouded in shadow. Seemed like I'd get to the top right at sunset. Perfect. It was a done deal. I got out, shut the door, hopped down into a canyon, and then began a slow ascent on slickrock and slabs towards the base of this most curious summit.

Separation Peak

Lookin' back from where I came...

I took a direct line to the summit, something I don't recommend as there was numerous brush to contend with along the way. My advice is to stick to the wash. Not only is there no brush, it's also wayyy more scenic. But I'd picked my line and I was gonna take it, and I bushwhacked straight to the base of the peak, clambering up to the summit from the northwest. 

Easy going for the most part, I soon encountered some fun, downward facing class 3 slabs just beneath the summit, an unexpected yet exciting final obstacle. I scurried on up the slabs lickety-split, reaching the summit just as the sun dipped below Nippeltop to the west, casting the entire peak and the surrounding area in shadow, the evening nice and cool, dusk fast approaching. 

Class 3 just beneath the summit

Nippletop

The views were pretty dang good, especially from such a little nubbin' such as this. Lookin' south revealed more of the slickrock paradise of the east rim, the "Point of Compassion" visible in the distance, Parunuweap Canyon far below, the thing inaccessible, off-limits, wild, free. Lookin' north revealed bits and bobs of the east rim, Aires Butte and South Ariel Butte visible in the distance, two huge monoliths of white sandstone. I lingered for a few minutes, enjoying the silence, my mind empty, only focused on what it was witnessing in the moment. And then I waved goodbye to the scene, scrambled off the summit, and began the short hike back to the car, this time taking the wash on the way back. 

North

South

Rising shadows, darkening skies. The toads were out. Loud things. Very loud. Them's were causing quite the racket. And I walked down the wash and there were pools in the sandstone, and every time I looked into one the frogs would shut up and scatter, dipping beneath the dark water, hiding from my inconsiderate gaze. I don't blame them. They were mating after all. Needed their privacy. 

So I avoided the pools and the toads started their racket again, and the whole evening was full of their screechin' and croakin', and I butt-scooted back into the canyon and hiked up to the pullout and drove on out of the park, the sun long gone, the day finished. 

It was nice to finally get back to Observation Point after all these years. It's a good spot, one I'm sure to visit again sometime in the future. It's a shame that awesome trail from the canyon floor is still closed though. That thing was the real deal. 

A Long Walk on the East Rim

A lazy morning. Prostrate in bed. Nothing going on, nothing planned. Seconds turning to minutes, minutes to hours. Still in bed. Comfy bed. Cozy bed. Don't wanna get out. But I must, I must. And I lurch out of bed with a creak and a snap and I hobble into the kitchen and eat some oatmeal or something. Maybe throw in some peanut butter. I don't know. I ain't no gourmet. 

Nearly noon, the sun nice and bright, daytime splendor all around. Outside that is. Inside it is dark. Gotta go outside. Gotta touch the light. 

I grabbed the pack, threw in some peanuts and a granola bar and these mediocre dried apple rings. Don't really know why I bought them. Perhaps the packaging appealed to some backwater section of my brain, to the rarely used conglomerate of misfired neurons and musty gray matter just chillin' in my skull, its sole purpose of existence to take up space and use precious resources without giving anything in return. Or maybe it was my stomach's fault. I don't know. Couldn't let those rings go to waste though. Had to eat those suckers.

Outside, in the car, driving down the road. Cars pass by, motorcycles zoom on through, and hey, look, a big ol' dead deer on the side of the road. Sunny, sunny, sunny. Outstanding weather. Fabulous lighting. A lovely day. A lovely day that was nearly half over. Oh well. That's what happens when you lay in bed all morning.

Still driving, the tires rolling silently on the blacktop. Into Springdale, into Zion National Park, the canyon walls high, the coloration on the cliffs infinitely fascinating. Up the road, behind a big ol' camper. Yep. Gonna be stuck at the tunnel for a while. And I stop at the tunnel and stare at the back of the camper and wait for about 15 minutes and four, yes, FOUR RVs come through on the other side, one after the other after the other, all of 'em the same make and model and color. Perhaps the drivers knew each other. A color-coordinated family extravaganza. Or maybe it was all just a big coincidence and they were all strangers and they were simply lined up, one after the other, by some cruel twist of fate. Oh the endless possibilities...how can one be bored in this life? There's always something funky going on. Just gotta know where to look. 

Through the tunnel, out the other side, cars lined up on the side of the road, each one parked so close to the other the whole thing looked like one gigantic metallic centipede. And the camper pulled off the side of the road and I drove on, trying to get to the East Rim Trail. And I pulled off the side right next to the East Entrance and hit up the outhouse and then wandered around, trying to find the trailhead. Walking, walking, walking. It's a wonderful thing. Gets you where you need to go, one way or another.

And I walked on down the road and up to the East Rim Trailhead and just as soon as I started I realized I forgot to display my dang pass. Oops. Had to turn around. And so I walked on back to the car, drove it over to the proper trailhead, parked in the dirt, displayed my pass, chugged some water, said something like "alright, lets do this for real" and then set off down the trail. It was ten minutes after 12pm. Heck yeah. Just the way I like it...

I wanted a long walk. A long walk through the woods. Craved the mileage. Yearned for fatigue. Ain't gone on a long walk in a long time. It needed to happen. Ten minutes after noon on a Tuesday the day after summiting Jobs Head seemed like the best opportunity. Ok, maybe not the best opportunity, but it was something and I was dang diddly dang gonna dang diddly take it.

Left foot, right foot, walking walking walking. Bright colors. Everything illuminated. Tiny flowers. Green shrubbery, white sandstone, wispy breeze. Springtime in the high desert. What a lovely thing. Unlike chafing. Chafing is not a lovely thing. But it happens. Especially when you wear boxer shorts on a long hike in the woods. 

They started rubbing pretty good about four miles in. Stated rubbin' even better after another two. And so I jumped off the trail and took 'em off and shoved 'em in the pack and walked around commando. And I walked like a cowboy in the old wild west, my knees pointed slightly outward, my legs slightly bent. Not the most comfortable hiking position, but it got the job done.

And others were out and about, people out there for the day, people out there for a few days, a mixture of day hikers and backpackers and trail runners and the like. And I passed a few of them and they passed me and we all said hello or gave a nod and performed the customary unwritten trail etiquette expected of all outdoor travelers.

Growing shadows, shifting winds. I walked straight to Cable Mountain, following the signs as I went, stopping when the trail terminated in cliffs. An old wooden structure stood tall and weathered; the remains of a logging operation that brought wood from the top of the rim down to the canyon floor. Apparently that's how the Zion Lodge was built. But it don't matter. The thing burned down in the 60's. 

Everything is ephemeral. All for naught, naught for all. All that effort, all that work, the clearing of the forest, the sea of stumps, all of it for one big fire to make it all meaningless. But that was a long time ago. The trees have come back. The lodge, rebuilt. All that remains are a few bits and bobs from the past. I sat underneath the old wooden structure, the thing merely a skeleton. All it's good for now is shade. 

Munchin' on peanuts, munchin' on those apple rings. Crikey, those things ain't good at all. Even in my hungered state they still managed to—as the kids these days say—give me the ick. And icky they were. Nice and warm in my pack, the things were limp and a little moist, tasting a wee bit like vomit in the back of the throat. I forced 'em down, washing out the taste with peanuts and water and the sweet crispiness of that most excellent granola bar. 

But at least the views were nice. Angels Landing, Big Bend, Observation Point. I could see cyclists down below, see all the E-bikers, see the tiny shuttle moving down the thin line of the road like a beetle on a blade of grass. I moved closer to the edge, sat down, dangled my legs. Yep. That was nice. Always gotta dangle the legs. It's one of those things you just have to do.

And then it was time to go and I walked and walked and walked, burping up apple rings the whole way, the taste still in my throat, yucky, yucky, yucky. And then I decided to check out Big Cable Mountain, a wide, flattish mound rising just a smidge off the trail. And I walked through brush and dirt and sticks and I got to the top and you know what? Ain't nothing up there. Not a darned thing. 

Dirt and plants. That's it. I stood for a bit, walked around, tried to find a high point of some kind, wandered some more, and then made my way back to the trail. Nothing much going on up there. Lots of brush, lots of manzanita and ceanothus, a smattering of pines, a sprinkle of sheep dookie. Very interesting stuff for some folks. But not for me. Kinda gave me the same vibe as those apple rings. Or maybe it was just that I was burpin' them up like crazy by that point. I don't know. Tomato, tomahto. 

Back on the trail, I hit a junction, making a right towards Deertrap Mountain. And this trail was a lot more thin and a little more "out there" or at least that's just the vibe I got from it. Sun gettin' lower now, the breeze still kickin', the colors shifting to their afternoon setting, grass everywhere, shrubs everywhere, one foot after another, still walkin' like a cowboy, my choice of going commando not really working so great anymore.

And then I left the trail and started bushwhacking up to what is known as "Scarlet Begonias." A brushy little summit, this thing actually had pretty decent views of the East Rim. And I didn't play the Grateful Dead song at the top 'cause it never crossed my mind; too busy trying to figure out why the name "Scarlet Begonias" was chosen for this peak in the first place. No scarlet, no begonias anywhere to be found. No flowers to be found of any kind for that matter. Just scraggly pines, hardy cactus and lots and lots of rocks and dirt. Personally, I woulda named this peak "Brushy Hob Knobblin" but I guess "Scarlet Begonias" is a prettier name. 

Aries Butte, Nippletop from "Scarlet Begonias"

 

A view from "Scarlet Begonias"

And I munched on more of those disgusting apple rings and finished the peanuts and chugged most of my water and then began the long, long, long trek back to the car. And the miles disappeared underfoot, one after the other. And the afternoon grew long and the shadows longer and soon I was walkin' in the shade for the most part, things coolin' off, the day wrapping up. And I was sick and tired of walkin' like a cowboy and so I hopped off the trail for the second time and took off the pants and said "Aww man" and my thighs were nice and pink and I put on the ol' boxer shorts and kinda just thugged it out the whole rest of the way back. 

Twenty-two miles. Six hours, twenty-five minutes, fifty-one seconds. Didn't see a single person on the way back. Had the whole trail to myself. And the parking lot was empty and I sat around with the windows down for a bit, my hair all gross and sweaty, my eyes staring in the distance and seeing nothing. I had gotten exactly what I was lookin' for. Lots of miles, lots of fatigue. I was able to enjoy the afternoon, make something out of the day. Coulda done without the chaffing, but there's always something that's gotta be added to the mix just to spice things up. That's just the way it goes.